My gods this is so seventies -which is half its charm. If you happen to be wearing a flowing, paisley moo-moo then you’re in luck. Throw in some Lambrusco and I think you may have invented a time machine.
The other half of its charm is that I made a drunken holiday promise to James when we were in Barcelona that I would make more paella at home.
As some of you know, making good on a drunken promise is my specialty. It’s why I moved to New Zealand in the first place. And look how that turned out!
Not quite as well as this weekend paella. But close.
- 250g paella rice. Bomba or calaspara are good according to the internet. Our packet just said “paella rice”.
- Pinch of saffron. Don’t skip this bit. But if you do, throw in some tumeric while its simmering instead. But seriously, don’t skip in. The lurid yellow is why this dish is so much fun.
- At least 150g of proper chorizo. You can add more. See opposite for the amount I used.
- 500g combo of seafood and meat. I don’t much care for mussels in my paella because they get in the way of me inhaling the whole thing with minimal chewing. Plus it’s more effort and this is the weekend man. So I went 250g raw grey Atlantic prawns and 250g shredded roast chicken.
- 1 large red onion, sliced.
- 500ml of chicken stock.
- A few tablespoons of sherry. Ours was Pedro Ximenez because it’s awesome. Do some sherry research first or you’ll ruin your 1970s time machine, possibly trapping you in an alternate 1985 where teachers wear bathrobes on their porches and that’s just too horrifying to contemplate.
- Chopped fresh coriander.
- Olive oil.
- Garlic clove, chopped. (Or use garlic oil.)
Fry the onions, garlic and chorizo in the oil until the onions are mostly cooked and the chorizo has leaked its awesome paprika/garlic oil and turned everything ochre.
Then throw in the rice and cook for a couple of minutes, making sure the grains get coated in the oil.
After that, pour in the hot stock, throw in the shredded chicken and raw prawns, stir and let simmer for 20 minutes.
If James happens to be near you at the time you need to shoo him away like an uncooperative, confused hen because he will want to stir it.
It will look like the picture on the right. You’ll know it’s done when all the liquid is gone and it looks like a summer dinner party in 1978.
Then just dump the fresh coriander on top and take the whole thing to the table.
Serve with something white from the Loire. These are big flavours. No point being subtle.